


Bold Will Hold

by southsideforever



Series: Bold Will Hold [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, EMT Ian Gallagher, First Dates, M/M, Tattoo Artist Mickey Milkovich, Tattoos, Top Ian Gallagher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27187642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/southsideforever/pseuds/southsideforever
Summary: Ian tries to play it cool as he’s greeted with bright blue eyes standing out against pale skin. Ian can see the edges of tattoos poking out of his jacket at his neck and wrists, and a simple silver nose ring in his right nostril.---Awkward yet adorable Tattoo AU.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Bold Will Hold [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094369
Comments: 101
Kudos: 473
Collections: Numerous OTPS Infinite Fandoms





	1. Chapter 1

The diner is pretty empty for a Saturday. The server checks in with him enough to be attentive, but not overbearing as he waits for his brother. Ian chose a two-person table near the wall of windows, taking advantage of the late afternoon sun while he sips his Coke. 

Ever since Lip moved into the rental house with Tami and Fred, it’s been difficult for the two brothers to have one-on-one time. Ian has gone over there a few times to help with renovations, but they’ve never been able to really talk as Tami’s usually loudly pleading with Fred to stop crying. His nephew’s baby teeth are coming in and he wants to make sure everyone knows it. 

So when Lip suggested that they meet up for burgers and to shoot the shit before his tattoo appointment, Ian was pretty excited. 

Ian happens to look out the window at the same time Tami’s little ridiculous red car pulls up, his brother behind the wheel. Getting out of the car, Lip takes a hit off the vape he allegedly quit and catches Ian’s eye through the window grinning as he heads towards the front door. 

Lip walks into the diner and Ian greets him by sliding off his chair and pulling him in for a brief hug. Lip pats his back before they sit opposite each other, chairs scraping against the wooden floor as they settle. 

“You been here long?” Lip asks. 

Ian shakes his head, “Nah, just a couple of minutes.”

Lip picks up the menu. “So, we’re people that _do lunch_ now, huh?” 

“You asked me!” Ian laughs. 

Their server comes over to greet Lip, taking both of their orders and letting them know to holler if they need anything.

While they wait, the brothers update each other on what’s been going on in their lives. Lip tells Ian about Freddie and how Tami’s already going insane about the kid’s first birthday, which isn’t for a couple of months. He tells him about the rare motorcycle he’s fixing up on the side in his garage, both of them commenting on how nice it is having the extra cash. In return, Ian tells him it’s kind of weird without him at the house and how Frank tunneled in through the vents again. He confides in Lip that he’s been thinking about becoming a paramedic, but he’s worried about being able to handle the extra schooling. And that, yes, he’s been taking his meds. 

After the server brings their food, there’s a lull in the conversation. Lip tosses a french fry in his mouth before patting his hands together to get the salt off. “You seeing anybody?” he attempts to casually ask. 

Ian has been anticipating the question all afternoon. All of his siblings danced about the subject since his break-up with Trevor. It was a delicate conversation; it’s difficult for Ian to talk about the times that he’s manic. He once told Lip that he can’t always tell when the mania is creeping in because he feels good and confident and happy. It’s hard not to lean into those things when otherwise they feel few and far between.

“So, what time’s your appointment?” Ian changes the subject and Lip lets him. 

* * *

Chicago winters feel neverending, countless dreary days accompanied by below-freezing temperatures and lake effect snow. After nearly five months of darkness, the impending arrival of spring is becoming more noticeable. The air still has a slight chill to it, but the sun is making more frequent appearances and coats are no longer a requirement. It’s a change that Ian welcomes. 

After they pay their bill, which sparked a battle between them that Lip ultimately won citing his place as the eldest brother, they decide to walk to the tattoo shop since it’s only a couple of blocks away.

“What’re you getting again?” Ian asks, taking a drag off his cigarette, handing over his lighter. 

Lip cups his hand around the flame and inhales deeply, he couldn’t resist bumming one. “Fred’s birthday in Roman numerals.” 

“That’s cool… and pretty hipster. Just like your triangle,” Ian jokes. Lip once tried to explain that it represented the three pillars of personal growth: truth, love, and power. But Ian’s pretty sure he was just trying to impress some neighborhood girl whose name neither one of them can even remember anymore.

For as much shit as Ian likes to give Lip about being a soft bitch now that he’s a dad, Ian loves watching his older brother settle into his new role.

“Ay, fuck you,” Lip laughs. 

As they approach the shop, Ian notices a guy leaning against the brick window sill. He has a cigarette between his tattooed fingers as he’s scrolling through his phone. His dark black hair is cut so the sides are shorter than the top, and there are a few strands falling onto his forehead as he peers down. He’s got on a faded black jean jacket with a few buttons and patches on the front. His black pants are slim cut and there’s a carabiner holding a set of keys hanging from one of the belt loops. Ian watches the guy let his cigarette dangle between his lips as he starts tapping out a message. 

“Here it is,” Lip announces and they both finish their smokes tossing them on the ground.

The guy doesn’t look up until Lip grabs the handle on the front door. Ian tries to play it cool as he’s greeted with bright blue eyes standing out against pale skin. Ian can see the edges of tattoos poking out of his jacket at his neck and wrists, and a simple silver nose ring in his right nostril. The guy gives both of them the slightest nod. 

Ian almost stumbles over the threshold but catches himself at the last minute. 

The front door dings as the brothers walk through signalling to the employees that a client has arrived. Ian and Lip are met by a heavily tattooed woman, as well as loud music and the buzzing of multiple tattoo guns. 

“How can I help you?” she asks.

She’s sitting behind a large front desk with a glossy wooden top. The desk is bisected by a small set of saloon doors allowing employees and clients alike to easily slip between the front waiting area and artist workspaces. Just beyond the desk, Ian can see two people being tattooed and a third sitting patiently on her phone. 

“Hey, yeah, I got an appointment with Jason,” Lip responds. Ian feels kind of out of place but he knows that Lip doesn’t一he’s a cockroach, always adapting to every situation. 

A different guy, Jason apparently, emerges from the back room. “Yo, Jason, how’s it going, man?” Lip questions as he pulls him in for a pseudo hug. “This is my brother, Ian,” Lips adds nodding towards Ian who awkwardly lifts his arm even though his hands are in his jacket pockets. Jason returns his nod and starts giving Lip the rundown. 

While Jason makes a copy of Lip’s ID and Lip fills out the required forms, Ian continues to look around. He would describe the shop as organized chaos. The waiting area has one small couch and two chairs with various potted plants, vines with green leaves snaking their way across the window sills. There’s also a freestanding chalkboard with a welcome message for people entering the shop. 

Almost every surface is covered; the original brick walls are barely visible behind art of differing styles, including multiple panels of flash. 

Behind the desk, the artists’ stations are all decorated a little differently. Some have candles and framed artwork, while others have small skulls and crystals. On the shelves above one artist, Ian swears he sees little embalmed creatures in glass bottles. But what really catches his eye is the workspace with the client waiting. There’s a hand-painted sign stating “learn a unique skill or shut the fuck up” hanging next to a Chicago flag. It also has a stack of sketchbooks, a black coffee mug, and pinned photographs that he can’t quite make out. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Ian notices the guy outside flick his cigarette into the gutter and head back in through the front door. 

“Alright, shitheads, punk rock hour is officially over. I can’t listen to the same three fucking chords anymore,” he yells walking back to where his client’s been sitting.

He slides off his jacket and hangs it on a hook next to his cart. Ian takes in his newly exposed arms, which are covered in colorful tattoos, and his fitted burgundy t-shirt. He fiddles with his phone taking over the shop’s bluetooth sound system. 

The other employees groan and playfully “boo” when Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love a Bad Name” blares. The guy throws up a middle finger. He settles in putting on a fresh pair of black gloves and sprays some kind of liquid onto a paper towel wiping at the woman’s nearly complete forearm tattoo. From his vantage point, Ian can’t tell what it is. 

“You good?” he hears the guy ask her. She nods. “Maybe 10 more minutes,” he adds. 

Ian watches the guy test his machine a few times, stomping on the pedal. He puts his hand on the woman’s forearm, dips the needles in ink, and starts buzzing away. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Ian sees Lip angling his inner forearm towards him. “What do you think?” 

He takes in the “VII • X • MMXIX” outline just under Lip’s elbow ditch and nods, “Looks good.” 

Jason takes Lip back and gets him settled into a chair. Ian has little interest in watching Lip get tattooed, so he starts flipping through the flash booklets on the front desk. He finds that he really likes the ones signed M.M. in the corner; Ian doesn’t know a whole lot about tattoos, but he’s pretty sure they’re in the traditional style. 

He flips through a few more pages then takes a seat on one of the chairs. He opens his phone to mindlessly scroll through social media, hearting a few things and liking others, and checks his emails.

After a few minutes, he hears, “Alright, I think that’s it.” Ian looks up to see the guy and the woman standing. He directs her to the full-length mirror so she can check out the final product. Her face breaks into a huge smile and she turns toward the guy to thank him. He just smirks and waves her over. Ian can hear that he asks her to take a seat, placing her arm back on the rest. He adjusts the light above and takes out his phone snapping a few pictures.

Ian watches as he yells out, “Isla, check this out.” 

The woman at the front desk spins off her stool and walks towards him. “Dude! That’s awesome. I like the colors you used,” she comments while he wipes off the tattoo a few more times. The client beaming from the compliment maybe more than the guy. “Looks really good, Mickey.” 

The black-haired guy, no一 _Mickey_ , gives the client instructions on how to care for it while wrapping her arm. Ian watches as he carefully tapes the dressing in place making sure everything is covered and secure. He walks her to the front desk where she hands over an envelope and they exchange brief goodbyes.

Little does Ian realize, Lip has been watching him swoon over the artist the entire time. Lip first noticed Ian checking him out as they approached the shop. He almost commented on Ian’s faux pas at the threshold, but cut his little brother a break. As he’s been getting tattooed, Lip’s watched Ian steal as many glances as possible. 

“We’re good here, man,” Jason tells Lip, wiping his arm. “What do you think?” Lip peers down taking in the numbers. 

“It’s perfect, dude,” Lip confirms smiling. He tries to get Ian’s attention, but the redhead is staring at the guy while he cleans his workspace. Lip snaps his fingers at Ian who finally looks over and walks through the saloon doors to see how the tattoo turned out. It’s simple and straightforward, but Ian knows how much it represents to Lip. 

Jason directs them towards the front desk to settle up. Lip grins as Ian attempts to nonchalantly walk around taking in the artwork on the walls. He almost feels bad for Ian when the guy sits down and starts playing on his phone not even looking up once. That’s when Lip gets an idea.

“Yo, you ever do cover-ups?” Lip yells over to Mickey, throwing Ian a knowing grin. 

“Lip, stop,” Ian whispers to him using his long legs to quickly cross the shop to where Lip’s standing. But it was too late, Mickey was already looking over at them. 

“Yeah, sometimes,” he responds blandly. “What’re you trying to cover?” 

“It’s actually my brother’s,” Lip nods over to Ian, “He’s got this fucking _awful_ thing on his shoulder.” 

“Lip,” Ian damn near whines.

Lip looks at Ian smirking, “C’mon, you know it’s a piece of shit.” 

Listening and watching the brothers' interaction peaks Mickey’s interest. He tries to hide a smile as he looks at the flustered redhead, getting up and walking closer to them.

“Alright,” Mickey directs towards Ian. “Take your shirt off.”

“Uhh,” Ian blushes, his cheeks matching his hair. “What?” 

Mickey stares at him like he’s an idiot. “...I gotta see what you want to cover up?”

“No, really, it’s cool,” Ian replies as he waves him off. 

“Ian, just show him.” 

“Will you stop?” Ian jerks his head towards Lip. 

“Just take your shirt off.” 

“Lip, fuck off.” 

“Are you going to show me or are you just wasting my time?” Mickey’s got what Debs would refer to as a bitchface on.

Ian hesitates but starts working on getting his jacket off then pulls his shirt over his head. Lip chuckles every time he sees Ian’s tattoo and today is no exception. Ian throws him a pointed look and turns around bracing himself for Mickey’s reaction. 

He knows his Monica tattoo is fucked up. He knows that he wasn’t in a good frame of mind when he got it and that he was desperately trying to find something to soothe the confusing grief he felt after she died. The tattoo sucks, there’s no argument there, but Ian still remembers what the artist told him about physical versus mental pain. 

After a few seconds of silence, Ian’s anxiety gets the best of him and he prompts, “So?” 

“I can see why you’d want to get it covered up,” Mickey starts. Ian didn’t think his face could get any redder, but apparently, he’s wrong. “But it’s definitely not the worst thing I’ve been asked to cover.” 

Ian peeks over his shoulder, “Yeah?” he asks, seeking further affirmation. 

Mickey makes a face and nods. “I’ve seen way worse,” he confirms walking towards his station to get a piece of tracing paper and a marker. 

Ian can smell cigarettes and the faintest bit of soap when Mickey moves in next to him; there’s also something that he can’t quite place but that he knows he likes. Mickey holds the tracing paper up to Ian’s shoulder and uses the marker to quickly sketch out the area. 

“See? He’s seen worse. It was supposed to be for Moni一,” Lip tries to explain. 

Ian cuts him off with a curt, “Shut the fuck up.” He doesn’t need Lip sharing that the headless big titty woman is supposed to be their mother.

“I get it, man. Sometimes things just don’t work out,” Mickey empathizes. His hand that’s holding up the paper feels warm against Ian’s back. It’s only there for a few seconds, but Ian wants to cry when he pulls away. 

“You shouldn’t have got it for her anyway,” Lip apparently feels the need to add like Ian hasn’t heard that a million times. He rolls his eyes. 

“Go ahead and put your shirt back on,” Mickey tells him. He pulls the soft green shirt back over his head and chest. “You got anything specific in mind?” 

“Uh, not really,” Ian answers. 

“I saw you checking out my book earlier,” Mickey points to the front desk. “Anything you like in there or…?” he drifts off. 

Ian’s brain doesn’t know what to process first: the fact that at some point Mickey was looking at him or that out of all the options it was Mickey’s work he liked best.

“Y-yeah,” Ian stumbles, “your work is really good… I liked一 _like_ it… a lot.” Ian's heart swells when that makes Mickey smile. “I guess I’d be open to whatever you think would look good? Or like whatever you think would work best?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Mickey confirms. “Let’s pick a day and time...” Mickey reaches under the front desk for the scheduling book. “And I’ll have something ready when you come in then we can talk about any changes you’d wanna make or whatever.” He flips forward a few pages asking about two weeks from then. 

“That works for me,” Ian nods. 

“Alright, you’re all set then.” Mickey hands him a black card with “Mickey Milkovich” stylized on it, “Here’s my card with the shop’s number in case you need it.” It has all of the shop’s information and Mickey’s Instagram handle on the bottom. 

“Cool, thanks… Mickey,” Ian smiles heading toward the door with his afterthought of a brother. Mickey gives them a nod mirroring the one when they first arrived.

Once they’re out of sight of the shop windows, Ian acknowledges Lip’s presence again and knocks into his side. “What the fuck was that?” he asks aggressively while pulling out two cigarettes, handing one over. He lights his then reaches out to light the other. 

“Dude, you were staring at him the whole fucking time we were in there.” 

“No, I wasn’t,” Ian denies, earning a look from Lip. “Fine, maybe I was, but I don’t need you to fucking intervene.” 

“Looked like you could’ve used some help.” 

“Oh fuck you,” Ian replies with no real heat behind it. Lip puts his arm around Ian’s shoulders lightly pulling him in. 

When they reach the little red car, Lip asks if he wants a ride back to the Gallagher house. Ian does and he scrunches his long legs to fit into the Matchbox car. The ride is quiet. Ian pretends to be angrier than he actually is with Lip. Of course, it feels weird to have his brother step in like that, but at least now he has a reason to see Mickey again. 

Ian looks out the window when a realization hits him and he groans loudly, “How the _fuck_ am I going to pay for this?” Lip quickly looks over, laughing at Ian's wide eyes and panicked face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awkward Ian and artsy Mickey might be my new favorite thing. Everything referenced is from my own experiences getting tattooed and living in Chicago.
> 
> My social media game is wack, but let's connect: [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/southside-forever) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/s_sideforever).
> 
> xx Rhys


	2. Chapter 2

In the weeks leading up to his appointment, Ian has been picking up as many extra shifts as possible. He was serious when he asked Lip how he was going to pay for this tattoo. One night, Sue even pulls him aside to make sure everything’s okay, but he assures her that he’s just trying to get some extra money.

Ian spends more time getting ready than he would like to admit. After going back and forth a few times, he decides on jeans, a grey henley, and his jean jacket. Liam sits on the closed toilet watching him adjust his hair in the bathroom mirror. 

“Are you going on a date?”

“What? No, I have that tattoo appointment,” Ian looks sideways at an unconvinced Liam. 

“Looks like you’re getting ready for a date.” 

“Well, I’m not.” 

“Lip says you have a crush on the guy doing it.” 

“Lip doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.” 

Liam rolls his eyes and leaves the bathroom.

Ian puts his hands on the sides of the sink letting his head fall between his shoulders. He looks up into the mirror, eyes raking over his appearance: clean-shaven, hair slicked back, and teeth freshly brushed.

He takes a deep breath and leaves to catch the bus. 

* * *

No one is at the front desk when Ian walks in. He stands there awkwardly for a few seconds before a familiar voice yells out, “One minute!” from the backroom. Ian replies with a quick, “Okay!” and looks around. Unlike the last time he was here, the shop is quiet and… empty. 

Before Ian can read into it, Mickey steps out of the backroom. He’s wearing the same slim cut black jeans, but this time he has on a band t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. Ian takes in the man’s toned arms with bright tattoos. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” Mickey asks as he makes his way to the front desk where he places a couple of sheets of paper down with a pen. 

“Pretty good. How about you?” 

“Good… you can step around,” Mickey instructs. Ian walks through the saloon doors moving in next to Mickey. He’s met with the same combination of smoke, soap, and something uniquely Mickey. He tries not to inhale deeply. Ian didn’t notice this the last time they were close, but he has quite a few inches on the artist. 

“So,” Mickey gestures towards the desk, “what do you think?” 

Ian peers down, eyes widening at the image. A feminine hand framed in flames is holding a mask of a woman’s face. She looks like a 1950s pin-up with her large eyes and thin eyebrows, delicate nose and peaked lips, and curled hair. Behind the mask is a demon’s face, harsh with maniacal eyes, and sharp horns. Ian can’t tell if the demon is pulling off the mask or putting it on, and he figures that’s by design. It’s intense but Ian didn’t expect anything less. 

“Holy shit, Mickey…” Ian tries to find the right words. “This is amazing… like, really amazing.” 

“Yeah?” Mickey gives him a shy smile. “Seems like you had a conflicted relationship, so I, uh, kind of ran with that.” 

Ian’s shocked by the accuracy of Mickey's interpretation of his relationship with Monica. Not only that but also the diagnosis they share. All he had to go off of was Lip and Ian’s stilted conversation and Mickey was still able to capture twenty years of frustration and love and disappointment. 

“Anything you wanna change?” Mickey questions. 

“Uh, no… not really,” Ian meets Mickey’s eyes, but the artist quickly turns, looking back down at the stencil. He has the slightest hint of freckles on his nose and cheeks, something Ian also didn’t notice before.

“Colorwise, I’m thinking reds, purples, yellows… maybe some orange with heavy black shading,” Mickey explains. “It’ll be a slight twist on traditional.”

“Yeah, I mean, whatever you think will look good,” Ian nods. 

“Alright, so...” Mickey pushes the paperwork and pen towards Ian. “I’m gonna need you to read over these forms and sign ‘em. If you got any questions, let me know. Also gotta make a copy of your ID.” Ian reaches into his back pocket pulling out his wallet to get his ID. He hands it over noting the faded black lettering on the artists’ hand. It’s different from the rest of his tattoos. 

“Be right back,” Mickey says and heads towards the backroom before Ian can respond. 

He starts reading over the forms asking if he consents to the process and that he’s aware of the risks associated with getting a tattoo. He goes through a list of medical conditions checking no for all and confirms that he’s not under the influence of any drugs or alcohol. 

Mickey comes back to the desk holding his ID and a paper copy, sliding the real one over to Ian. 

“North Wallace, huh? I grew up like four blocks down on Trumbull,” Mickey reveals. 

“Seriously?” Ian exclaimed. Mickey chuckles at how excited Ian sounds. “Do you still live there?” 

“No...” Mickey starts unsure. “I haven’t for a long time, but I, uh, still have family that does.” Again, he doesn’t give Ian time to respond. He tells the redhead he needs a couple of minutes to set-up then they can get started. 

Ian is signing his last form when two of the tattooers he recognizes from last time come in carrying coffees and snacks. Ian watches as the female artist sets down a coffee next to Mickey. He thanks her and keeps setting up.

As the artists make their way to the backroom, Ian can hear them joking around and the rustling of their plastic bags. Music starts playing loudly from the shop’s speakers washing away any traces of silence. Ian knows it’s irrational, but he’s annoyed at their presence, tension settling in his jaw. 

There’s already a portable massage chair, minus the face cradle, set-up at Mickey’s station which will allow Ian to sit-up and have something comfortable to lean against. Ian watches Mickey put on a pair of gloves and cover the standing lights’ handles with blue plastic wrap. He also puts down a covering over the instrument stand, setting four or five inkwells on top and a glob of vaseline. 

Mickey waves Ian over. “Take your shirt off and get settled. If it’s uncomfortable, let me know and we can adjust it.” Ian nods and pulls his shirt over his head tossing it on an extra chair. He kind of steps into the chair leaning his chest against the back. The position gives him the perfect angle to check out the photographs on Mickey’s wall. 

Ian’s eyes glide over the photos, naturally drawn to some over others. In one of them Mickey’s sitting with a woman who shares the same black hair and blue eyes as they both smirk at the camera. In another, a baby-faced Mickey is standing with four other guys outside of a different tattoo shop, arms crossed over his chest. Next to it, there’s a photo of the same young Mickey smiling as he tattoos one of the guys who has a big belly and even bigger beard. But the photo that has Ian’s heart singing is Mickey kneeling down next to a young boy that looks just like him with their tongues out and middle fingers up. Ian bites his lip to hold back a smile. 

Mickey steps on the pedal a few times testing out the machine, the intensity of the sound pulling Ian back to the present. Ian thinks about how the buzzing sounds so much more intimidating when he’s the one that’s about to experience it. 

“I’m gonna start with the outlining and shading then we’ll go back through for color and highlights,” he tells him, dipping the needle in black ink. “You ready?” Mickey asks, tapping the pedal a few more times and placing his hand against Ian’s back.

Ian takes a deep breath, “Yeah, let’s do this.” 

He hisses at the first touch of the needle on his skin. 

“Don’t be a pussy,” Mickey snorts. 

“Are you allowed to talk to clients like that?” Ian does his best to look at Mickey over his shoulder playfully chastising him. 

“What? You gonna tell on me, Southside?” He challenges the redhead through a grin and arched eyebrow. Ian beams for about two seconds before the needle starts driving into his skin again. 

* * *

After about an hour or so, the buzzing stops. “Let’s take a break,” Mickey advises as he wipes at the progress. Ian silently thanks whatever deity might be listening; the pain isn’t as bad as when it first started, but he still welcomes a break. 

“You gonna hang in here or go out for a smoke?” Mickey asks. 

Ian leans up, trying not to think about Mickey remembering that he smokes. “Yeah, I could use one.” 

Mickey softly chuckles, wiping Ian’s shoulder one last time. He feels plastic wrap cling to his skin keeping everything covered and clean. When he hears the artists’ gloves snap off, he figures it’s safe to fully sit up. He sees that Mickey is sliding on a combination of a black hoodie and Bears vest. Mickey doesn’t strike Ian as a football fan but for some reason, it works.

Ian slowly stands and stretches his limbs. He bends down to grab his shirt off the extra chair gently pulling it over his body. Ian opts not to put on his jacket in fear that the denim might be too much for his sensitive shoulder, but he digs out his cigarettes from the pocket. When he leans up, Mickey has a cigarette between his lips and appears to be waiting for him. 

As soon as they step outside, Mickey’s hand goes up to block the wind while he lights up. Ian taps his pant pockets realizing he forgot his lighter inside. He reaches for the door, but a tattooed hand stops him and extends his own. Ian smiles, quickly taking it and returning it within a few seconds. He inhales deeply letting the smoke fill his lungs calming him from head to toe. On the exhale, his face and shoulders relax.

Ian glances at Mickey to find him sitting on the window sill running his thumb over his bottom lip. 

“So… what happened with her?” Mickey gestures towards his shoulder, taking a hit. 

There are a few different ways Ian could play this, but the look on Mickey’s face compels him to be honest. “She, uh, she died. Like two years ago.” 

“Shit,” Mickey’s face drops, “I’m sorry, man.” 

“It’s okay… She really wasn’t a great mom or anything,” Ian shrugs, rubbing at his upper arm. It’s cold without his jacket. He glances over at Mickey when he doesn’t get a response. 

It’s almost comical the way Mickey’s eyebrows have shot up to his hairline. 

“Your mom?” Mickey says, cigarette bouncing between his lips. Ian nods. “Hoooly shit,” Mickey takes his cigarette in hand, jumping up from the sill laughing. Ian’s face becomes a deep red when he swears there are the slight beginnings of tears in Mickey’s eyes. 

Through his laughter, Mickey manages, “Who the _fuck_ did this to you? I thought it was bad enough that it was a girlfriend, but your _mom_?” 

Ian lets Mickey have his moment. Face surpassing even his hair in color as he focuses on finishing his cigarette. 

“Fuck, man… I’m sorry,” Mickey states as his laughter peters off. He takes in Ian’s embarrassed face. “Seriously, fuck, I didn’t mean…” 

Ian musters the courage to glance at Mickey who’s now visibly distressed. “I shouldn’t have laughed. It’s cool you’d want to get something for your mom who, uh, died… fuck, you must think I’m an asshole. I was really just thinking about the guy who put this on you…” Mickey rambles. 

Ian revels in Mickey’s awkwardness. His own embarrassment fades watching the artist become the one stumbling over his words. A grin creeps over his face.

“Mickey,” Ian interrupts, catching Mickey’s attention. “It’s fine.” The panic around Mickey’s eyes starts to settle. “I know it’s shitty, that’s why I’m here, remember?” Ian smirks, taking the last hit and flicking the butt. Mickey follows suit. 

“Still, I shouldn’t have一,” Mickey starts. 

“Really, Mickey, it’s okay. I’ve heard way worse from my brothers and sisters,” Ian smiles at Mickey’s shy face and apologetic eyes. “Plus, you said it’s not the worst thing you’ve ever covered, right?” 

Mickey nods, hand going for the shop door and opening it for Ian to walk through first. “Far from the worst.” 

As he crosses the threshold, Ian glances back to say, “By the way… no girlfriends, like, ever.” The dynamic shift boosting his confidence. This time Ian’s the one that doesn’t give Mickey any time to respond. 

* * *

Mickey watches Ian take off his shirt and settle back into the chair. He’s mildly horrified with how their conversation played out, mentally kicking himself for being a dick, but it doesn’t seem like the redhead holds any ill will towards him. 

One of Mickey’s coworkers smirks at him as he walks back to his station taking off his hoodie and vest. Mickey puts on a clean pair of gloves and carefully peels off the plastic wrap from Ian’s shoulder throwing it away. He gets a paper towel, sprays some solution on it, and wipes the blood and plasma that’s seeped out. So far, he’s pleased with the progress. 

“Ready to get back at it?” Mickey asks. 

Ian nods and lets out a simple, “Yep.” 

Ian’s proud of himself when he doesn’t flinch this time as the needles begin to work his tender skin. His eyes settle back on Mickey’s photos, especially the one with the child. Ian can imagine the looks Mickey got letting the kid make that gesture. 

“I noticed the other ink on your rib,” Mickey says breaking the silence. 

Ian stops looking at the photographs and sighs. “Yeah, another great decision made by Ian Gallagher,” he responds sarcastically. Mickey smirks at the redhead’s back. Without prompting, Ian tells him, “I got it when I was like 18 and enlisted in the Army. Thought it looked badass… It was the first one I ever got.” 

Mickey hmms, reaching over to get more ink from the well. “First tattoo on your ribs? Okay, Tough Guy,” he jokes. 

Ian smiles turning his face towards Mickey but not shifting his body. He can just barely see the artist’s face, eyes laser-focused on his work. “Yeah, I guess I am,” he quips. 

“Guess you are,” Mickey teases.

After the exchange, their conversation fades. Ian closes his eyes while Mickey works on finishing the color. Every so often, Mickey catches a grimace on the redhead’s face. He works as diligently as he can without sacrificing design or detail. He catches himself admiring the redhead’s profile, his defined jawline and freckles, when he wipes away the extra ink. 

“How’re you doing, Red?” Mickey checks in. 

“Pretty good,” Ian opens his eyes. “How’s it looking?” 

“You’re gonna be able to see for yourself in about 5 or so minutes.” Ian sighs at Mickey’s non-answer. “But,” he starts, “I think it’s pretty fucking good.” Ian turns his head again, their eyes meet briefly and they share a quick smile. 

As promised, a few minutes later Mickey is setting down the machine and wiping at the tattoo. Ian can feel every ridge of the paper towel as it grinds against his sensitive skin. 

“Alright,” Mickey wipes one last time, “Ready to check this out?” 

Ian jumps up and walks toward the full-length mirror. He looks over his shoulder, jaw-dropping. His eyes quickly shift to Mickey’s in the reflection before going back to his shoulder. He spins around making direct eye contact with Mickey. 

“Holy shit,” he whispers at a bashful Mickey. “Holy shit, Mick… this is unreal,” Ian says turning around again. 

Mickey bites his lip watching Ian react to his work. Mickey knows he’s good, tattooing is one of the few things he’s confident about, but he couldn’t help feeling nervous about what the redhead would think. 

“Obviously there’s some spots where the old lines are going to kind of show through, but I worked them in as much as possible. It shouldn’t be too noticeable,” Mickey nervously explains although Ian doesn’t hear a single word. He’s overwhelmed with bright bold colors skillfully placed and mixed together. His natural skin tone makes the image stand out even more. 

“Fuck, Mickey…” 

“Alright, alright,” Mickey laughs. “C’mere…” He waits for Ian to walk back to his station. Ian manages to tear his eyes away from the mirror. “Take a seat so I can get some pictures,” Mickey instructs. 

Ian can’t get the smile off his face as he settles into the chair and Mickey starts adjusting the light over his shoulder. Mickey takes a couple of pictures then wipes away the blood and plasma to snap a few more. 

Mickey bellows for his coworkers to come check it out. Ian’s starting to feel like that’s a right of passage for having good work done. All of them compliment Mickey’s efforts and Ian’s new piece. Jason tells Mickey, “Definitely make sure you get pics of that one” and receives an absent nod in return. 

Mickey wipes it one more time then begins to cover Ian’s shoulder with bandages. “I want you to leave the bandage on until tomorrow afternoon, okay?” Ian nods listening carefully. “Wash it with antibacterial soap一just get some cheap shit from Walgreens or whatever,” Mickey gently tapes the edges to ensure it doesn’t come off. “After you clean it, rewrap for the first three days then you can air it out.” Mickey takes off his gloves, tossing them in the trash. “Lotion it so it doesn’t dry out... Don’t rub or pick at anything, it’ll come off when it’s ready. Got it?” 

“Yeah, I got it,” Ian confirms. 

“You’ll fuck it up if you mess with it too much,” Mickey warns as Ian gingerly slips his shirt and jacket back on. Ian admires how seriously Mickey takes his art but then again, if he didn’t he probably wouldn’t be so skilled. 

Ian and Mickey saunter towards the front desk. “Seriously, Mickey, thank you… it’s better than I could have even imagined,” Ian tells him, handing over an envelope full of cash, which Mickey accepts and folds into his back pocket. 

They stand awkwardly near each other before Ian walks through the swinging doors to the waiting room. Mickey grabs one of his cards and scribbles something on there. He reaches out to Ian with the card between his fingers, “If you’re in the neighborhood, you should stop by once it’s healed so I can get another picture.” 

Ian goes to tell Mickey he already has his card when he sees there’s a handwritten number. He squeals internally but cooly accepts, stuffing it into his pocket. “Yeah, definitely.” 

“Cool,” Mickey says. 

“Cool…” Ian trails off. Mickey bites his lip as they maintain eye contact for a few seconds. Ian makes his way to the door thanking Mickey again and giving him a small wave. Mickey watches the redhead leave with a closed-lip smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More awkward cuteness and some dynamic shifts. It was difficult to come up with an idea for Ian, so I leaned into my preference for (neo)traditional work. The Monica tattoo makes me laugh, but I'm excited to see it covered. The explicit rating will be earned in the final chapter. 
> 
> I made a sketch of Ian's tattoo: [let me know what you think!](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ebb69e7d4f44e66fb7c7b538fabc4d9c/20e3c442571f424c-cf/s1280x1920/24d569a0a3739ee3b42ed1fcef0c756f6afdd68b.jpg) I can't actually see this tattoo being on Ian's body, but that's the perk of creating an AU. 😉 Thank you for the suggestion, yellowcerulean!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/southside-forever) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/s_sideforever)
> 
> xx Rhys


	3. Chapter 3

1,053 people have liked the picture that Mickey posted on his Instagram. Ian has been watching the number steadily climb over the last five days. Through his extensive research, Ian’s determined that Mickey doesn’t add a whole lot of text to his posts, just the occasional hashtag. So when he saw “fun one” typed under the image, he couldn’t help but reread it over and over, grinning the entire time. 

The first couple of days challenged Ian’s flexibility as he awkwardly maneuvered to wash and re-cover the healing skin, leaving the bathroom sink and floor soaked much to the annoyance of his family. His skin was tight and tender, searing with pain as he gingerly slid on and off his softest shirts. Ian has never appreciated the fact that he’s a side sleeper more. 

On the fifth day, the tenderness starts to fade and it’s replaced with unrelenting itchiness. It’s taken every ounce of self-control Ian has not to scratch at it, but he remembers what Mickey said. The itchiness is also accompanied by peeling, colorful flakes falling every time he showers or rubs in lotion. 

Ian sits on the edge of his bed shirtless staring at the card Mickey gave him. He’s been staring at it for almost a week now and even though he knows that it’s an invitation, it still doesn’t make him any less nervous.

Ian takes a deep breath telling himself “fuck it” on the exhale, grabbing for the card _for real_ this time. He types the number into a new message, mulling over what to say. He catches himself in the mirror above the dresser and stands to take a picture. He goes for bewildered, furrowing his eyebrows and widening his eyes, as he twists for the camera. 

**Ian (7:02pm):** You didn’t tell me I’d shed 😱

He bites his lip and gives the message a final once over, pressing send. 

Ian falls to his side on the mattress mindlessly scrolling social media. He swipes between apps trying not to count how many minutes are passing by with radio silence. 

After half an hour of not getting a response, Ian wants to scream into his pillow. Why _the fuck_ did he think sending a picture of his crusty back was a good opener? 

He sighs and gives up. He stands with a groan and shoves his phone in his pocket. He grabs a clean shirt from the laundry pile and heads downstairs to the kitchen where he can hear pans banging and multiple voices talking at once. 

When he hits the bottom step, Ian sees Franny sitting on the counter while Debs takes cooled cookies off a sheet pan. At the kitchen table, Liam’s quizzing Carl in preparation for the police academy exam. Ian slips through unacknowledged and opens the fridge. He stands in front of it for a few seconds, but nothing catches his eye.

Ian turns around and watches as Debbie hands Franny a cookie. He starts to slowly creep towards her, grinning when she notices and begins to cry out laughing, grabbing onto Debs to protect her. Ian swoops her up, Franny squealing out “Uncle Ian!” as he spins her around. 

“Need cookies,” Ian tells her in a silly deep voice exaggerating the “o”s. Through her giggles and shrieks, she tells him that he can have one. He spins her around a few more times before setting her back on the counter. He leans in to take a bite out of the one in her hand, but a different tiny palm comes up to hold his face back. 

“No, Uncle Ian, this one is mine,” she tells him in a very serious voice. “You can have one of those.” She gestures to a plate next to them. 

“And after all this time,” Ian gasps and dramatically holds his chest, “I thought I was your favorite uncle.” Franny giggles and kicks her feet. Ian gasps again and shakes his head when she takes a big bite, smiling as she chews. 

Ian suddenly feels a vibration against his thigh. He scrambles to pull his phone out, heart skipping a beat when he sees it’s a response from Mickey. 

Looking to make a smooth escape, Ian looks up at Franny and tells her, “I guess I’ll just be going then…” he makes sad playful eyes at her. “No cookies for second best uncles.” 

“Third best,” Carl chimes in. Ian glares at him and continues to move back slowly.

“Nooo,” Franny whines. She grabs one off the plate. “No, Uncle Ian, you can have this one!” She reaches out to give it to him. Ian smirks and takes the peace offering, quickly leaning past her to grab another. Both Franny and Debs playfully yell “hey!” while he makes his exit to the living room. 

Ian settles on the couch stacking the cookies on his thigh, swiping over the text notification. 

**Mickey (7:43pm):** All part of the fun

 **Mickey (7:43pm):** You’re putting lotion on that, right? 

Okay, so he didn’t scare him off. Ian smiles at his phone tapping out a message that echoes the artist. 

**Ian (7:44pm):** Yeah, don’t wanna fuck it up 

**Mickey (7:45pm):** Good

Ian stares at the one-word response and can’t help feeling self-conscious. Did he read the situation wrong? Is he being annoying? Ian doesn’t want to overstep, but he also doesn’t want the conversation to end. He nervously takes a bite.

 **Ian (7:51pm):** So what’re you up to? 

**Mickey (7:51pm):** Finishing a outline for tomorrow

 **Ian (7:52pm):** Would it be weird if I asked to see?

After a few seconds, an image comes through. There’s a pencil replacing the usual cigarette in Mickey’s hand as he balances the sketchbook on a couch armrest. The light from above makes the white paper harsh, but Ian can still see an outline of a wolf head, snarling and tongue out, with a sword going through it. Ian’s eyes dance over the intricate detail of the fur and sword’s handle. 

Ian realizes he’s been staring at the image and the artist’s hand maybe a little too long when another message comes through. 

**Mickey (7:59pm):** This is when you’re supposed to compliment me

 **Ian (7:59pm):** I guess it’s okay 😏

 **Mickey (8:01pm):** Wow, a rave review

 **Ian (8:01pm):** I have a way with words

 **Ian (8:01pm):** I was thinking about stopping by the shop this weekend. Everything should be healed 

**Mickey (8:03pm):** Cool. I have a late appt on Saturday so I’ll be around 

**Ian (8:03pm):** Awesome!

Ian’s stomach churns with nerves and newfound excitement as he smiles at his phone. Mickey’s hard to read through text, but Ian feels okay with their exchange. At least the artist didn’t recoil at the picture he sent or the thought of Ian stopping by _and_ he shared his latest drawing一all good signs. 

He scrolls through their brief conversation a few times when he notices a small figure standing in front of him. Ian looks up to see Franny’s smiling face. “Hey, little lady,” he tells her, locking his phone while she climbs onto the couch. He grabs the remote to find a cartoon for them to watch, stretching out so he can rest his feet on the coffee table. 

Once they pick something, the redheads settle in next to each other. Although Ian’s eyes are on the screen and he can faintly hear his niece singing along, his mind races about his next meeting with the blue-eyed artist.

* * *

When he steps into the shop, he’s greeted by the female tattooer and before he can even get a word out, she loudly calls for Mickey. The shop is empty and quiet, something Ian had hoped for when he decided to show up close to closing time. She gives Ian a knowing smile, but it quickly turns into amusement when Mickey comes out from the backroom within seconds. Mickey bites his lip when he sees him standing there. 

“Hey,” Ian tells him through a smile. “I hope it’s still cool I dropped by.” 

“Of course, man,” Mickey replies, waving him to his station. “I wanna see how it healed.” 

Without prompting, Ian takes off his jacket and shirt, spinning around so Mickey can check out his handiwork. Ian jumps slightly when Mickey runs his fingers over the area, something he didn’t expect. 

“You guess it’s okay?” Mickey asks smugly, recalling their text exchange. 

“Eh,” Ian looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “I guess.” His playfully sarcastic tone makes the artist snort out a laugh. 

“Take a seat,” Mickey directs. Ian sits down and feels Mickey’s warm hands adjust his body under the light. His hands are softer than he expected, but he can feel callouses built up from the hours he spends drawing. 

“You good to close-up, Mick?” A feminine voice asks, pulling Ian out of his thoughts, as she tosses her bag strap over her chest. Mickey removes his hands and looks up, telling her he’ll take care of it. Just before she crosses the threshold, she sings out, “Make good choices.” 

Ian thinks he sees the slightest blush on Mickey’s face as he rolls his eyes. He can hear Mickey grabbing his phone and snapping a few pictures. 

“I’m, uh, glad you came back. I really wanted to see this one again.” Mickey steps back and Ian takes that as a sign that he can stand up and put his clothes back on. Reaching for his shirt, he catches Mickey swiping through the pictures. 

“Yeah… I am too,” Ian tells him hoping that he’ll look up. Ian doesn’t want to leave, but it feels kind of awkward and he’s not sure what to do or say next. “Well... I guess I should go?” coming out more like a question than a statement. 

Mickey’s head snaps up. He’s quiet, biting his lip, looking like he’s mulling something over in his head. Ian grabs his jacket off the chair when he hears, “Got plans tonight, Red?” 

* * *

If Mickey wasn’t guiding them, Ian would have walked right past the bar. The front door is a literal hole in the wall, a dark sign-less entrance. Once they get inside, they’re greeted by loud music and graffiti art. The walls are painted black making the colorful spray paint stand out and Ian wonders if some of it even glows in the art. He can feel the old wooden floors creak under his weight as they walk deeper into the bar. There are string lights along the top of the walls and he notices the ornate tin ceiling. 

It’s pretty crowded, but Ian expected that for a Saturday night. As they approach the bar, it becomes apparent that Mickey knows the bartender. Ian sees them share a nod, the bartender silently letting them know he’ll be right over.

Mickey leans closer and asks loudly over the music, “What do you want?” 

Ian looks at the beers on tap and the hundreds of bottles of liquor on the back wall, an overwhelming amount of choices. He hasn’t spent much time in bars outside of the Alibi and they definitely don’t have all this. 

“Um, I’ll just do an Old Style,” Ian yells back. Mickey nods as the bartender comes over. Ian watches as they greet each other and gives a small wave when Mickey introduces him. Mickey ends up ordering two Old Styles and a shot of whiskey, which he throws back right there. He hands Ian the beer and gestures towards a set of stairs near the back. 

It gets quieter and quieter as they head up to the second floor. Ian can still hear and feel the thrum of the music, but it’s definitely calmer up here and there are fewer people. The walls are covered in chalk drawings that range from crude to extremely artistic. There are a few tables here and there, and two pool tables towards the windows facing the street. 

Ian follows Mickey over to one of the pool tables. “You play?” Mickey asks. Ian thinks about all of the times he’s played at the Alibi with Kev and his siblings, “Yeah, I guess." Mickey smirks. 

They set their beers down on the window sill and Ian collects the balls from the pockets, rolling them down to Mickey so he can rack up. They grab sticks and use the blue chalk on the tips. 

Ian tells Mickey that he can break. He watches as Mickey aims the cue between his fingers, bending over slightly to line up a shot. Ian steals a glance or two at the artist’s ass, but he pays enough attention to see that Mickey gets one in. 

“You’re stripes,” he tells Ian, walking around the table to find the next best shot. Mickey checks out a few different angles, but it doesn’t pay off and lands just shy of the pocket.

Ian takes a drink of his beer before assessing his own best shot. The first ball is a little tricky and Ian isn’t sure it’s going to go in, but it does. Ian sinks two more, Mickey groaning each time, before he finally misses. 

“I got fucking hustled,” Mickey jokes taking a swig from his beer. 

“You’re lucky we didn’t put money on this,” Ian jokes back, making Mickey laugh. 

While Mickey walks around the table again, he asks, “So what do you do?” looking over at Ian. 

“Like for work?” Ian clarifies and Mickey nods. 

“I’m an EMT,” he states confidently.

Mickey arches his eyebrows, the expression on his face is impressed mixed with slight surprise. “Shit, that’s gotta be intense.” He leans over to take his shot. “I thought you said you were Army? ...Fuck,” he finishes with a curse as he misses again. He looks over at Ian who is looking anywhere but back at him, his cheeks slightly red. 

“Shit,” Mickey groans. “Did I just fuck up again?” He still cringes every time he thinks about their conversation regarding Ian’s mom. 

Ian finally looks over, “No, no, not at all,” he tells him only half convincingly. “If anything, I fucked up. I, uh, I joined the Army but then some shit happened and I ended up being discharged… like, dishonorably,” he looks down at his beer. 

“Like I said, man, shit doesn’t work out sometimes,” Mickey tells him, his face softer than Ian expected when he looks back up. The artist takes another drink. 

“Yeah, I guess… still kind of embarrassing, but whatever. It was a long time ago and I like what I do now, being an EMT,” Ian slightly rambles. “I like helping people and I’m usually there during the worst moments of their lives, ya know? Doing what I can to hold things together and trying to bring calm to chaos.” 

Mickey can hear a sense of pride in Ian’s voice and he really fucking likes it. He likes watching the redhead talk about things that excite him and he likes learning more about him. It’s been clear from their first interaction that Ian is a sweet person, awkward as shit, but definitely sweet, and he can imagine how soothing Ian is in that role. He can imagine Ian setting broken bones and flushing open wounds all while giving comforting smiles and trying to keep them distracted.

Ian doesn’t feel like chaos, Mickey _knows_ chaos, but he does feel calming. Even when Mickey made an ass out himself, the redhead was quick to let him off the hook for it. Obviously, they don’t know each other that well, but Mickey wants to know everything that he can. 

“I bet you’re really fucking good at it,” Mickey tells him causing Ian to blush. 

* * *

After a few rounds of pool, they made their way to one of the small tables. Ian has tears running down his face as Mickey animatedly tells him about the worst tattoo he’s ever been asked to do. 

“I’m not kidding!” He asserts through his own laughter. “She wanted a fucking _thong_ coming out of her ass so it looked like one was always riding up when she bent over.” 

“Oh my fucking god,” Ian has a hand on his chest as he struggles to breathe, leaning back in his chair. “Please… _please_ tell me you didn’t do it!” 

“Of course I fucking did it!” Mickey’s admission makes Ian laugh even harder. “I was an apprentice! I was just happy someone was letting me tattoo them.” He takes a drink from his beer, lips smirking around the bottle. 

“That’s truly horrifying,” Ian wipes his watery eyes. 

When their laughter dies down, Ian lets his curiosity get the best of him. “Tell me about those,” Ian gestures to his own knuckles. Mickey groans, but puts both hands flat on the table spreading his fingers out. The lettering is shaky and faded. 

“I got ‘em when I was 13 or 14, I don’t know, the first time I went to juvie,” Mickey looks down at them shaking his head. “Some kid was doing stick-and-pokes and I thought it would look cool... fucking dumb, really.” 

Ian watches Mickey curl his fingers and tap against the tabletop. He imagines a small Mickey, full of piss and vinegar, not even flinching when a found needle and pen ink are crudely and repeatedly driven into his knuckles.

“It was the, uh, the first time I really thought about tattooing as a job,” Mickey keeps going, Ian hanging on every syllable. “I was always drawing so it just kind of fit. When I got out of juvie the second time, I begged this guy to take me on.”

Mickey shrugs like it’s no big deal, but Ian knows it’s not easy to escape the bullshit of their neighborhood. 

“Was it one of the guys from your photos?” Ian asks, face quickly turning pink when he sees Mickey’s knowing smirk. “Kind of hard not to look at them when you’re sitting for hours,” he tries to casually add. 

Mickey nods. “Yeah, the big bearded guy, Joe.” He looks down and pulls at the corner of the label on his beer. “I was only 16, but he still let me hang around, mostly cleaning and shit. I’d show him my drawings sometimes and eventually, he started teaching me. I, uh, owe him a lot.” 

Ian watches different emotions flash across Mickey’s face as he talks. 

“It’s stupid to say, but getting into tattooing probably saved me,” Mickey looks up sheepishly. 

“That’s not stupid,” Ian softly replies. 

Something shifts between them, unspoken and sudden. Ian senses Mickey’s discomfort in being vulnerable and he wants to tell him that it’s okay, that he understands that where they grew up doesn’t give a shit about hopes or dreams and that he shouldn’t feel guilty or embarrassed for wanting more and making it happen. 

Ian gets how suffocating the weight of family names and zip codes can be, and he wants Mickey to know that. He wants Mickey to know that Southside shenanigans don’t scare him and that he won't judge him for it. Ian wants Mickey to feel comfortable and, most of all, he wants Mickey to trust him. 

“So… Juvie, huh?” Ian asks playfully, making Mickey grin.

* * *

After they finish their drinks, Ian and Mickey head outside for a smoke. Mickey lights his own cigarette before cupping around Ian’s, lighting it as well. Both men slightly shiver, the temperature has dropped over the last few hours. It’s quiet except for the hum of cars driving by and muffled bar music, and the streetlights cast a gold shine over everything. 

“This is a pretty cool bar. How’d you fin一,” Ian attempts to break the silence.

“You wanna get out of here?” Mickey cuts him off, cocking his eyebrow. Ian nods and they exchange grins. Mickey tosses his cigarette and gestures towards the way. 

It’s a short walk to Mickey’s apartment. They don’t talk much, but their hands frequently bump against each other. They turn off onto a quiet tree-lined street and Mickey leads them to a well-kept three-story brick building, a far cry from the Southside. 

Ian stares at Mickey’s ass as they climb the three flights to his apartment. When they reach the door, they both pant quietly as their blackened lungs take a minute to catch up. Ian stands closer than necessary as Mickey keys in. 

Once they step into the apartment, Mickey throws his keys and wallet on the coffee table, hanging up his jacket while Ian looks around. One wall has exposed brick and the others are painted a rich matte blue contrasting against the white baseboards and wooden floor. There are a few framed prints on the walls and Ian recognizes the grey couch from the picture Mickey texted. He wasn’t sure what to expect from the apartment, but somehow it all fits. 

Mickey goes into the kitchen yelling out, “Wanna beer?” 

Ian follows behind him and shakes his head when Mickey looks over the fridge door at him. Mickey takes one out, twists off the cap, and takes a drink. Ian watches his pale elongated neck as he swallows. 

Ian inches towards Mickey, crowding him up against the counter, taking his beer and setting it down. Ian moves his hands to Mickey’s hips, neither of them saying anything. Mickey slides one hand up Ian’s arm resting on his bicep while the other settles on the side of the redhead’s face. Their eyes lock before Mickey pulls Ian down, their lips meeting for the first time. 

It’s sweet and slow, soft lips pressing against each other and sharing breath. Ian can feel Mickey’s full lips curl into a smile when they briefly pull apart. 

Mickey runs his tongue along Ian’s bottom lip silently asking for permission. Ian opens his mouth letting their tongues meet, skillfully sliding against each other. It’s warm and wet and everything Ian thought that it would be. 

Ian tightens his grip on Mickey’s hips, pulling their bodies closer together, causing a quiet moan to slip out of the artist’s mouth. Ian swallows it down as they find a rhythm with their tongues that is quickly matched by their grinding hips. Their chests heave against each other, both of them unwilling to break apart. 

The sounds of their lips smacking wetly against each other fill the kitchen. Mickey digs his nails into Ian’s arm, moaning into the redhead’s mouth again when he feels their hard-ons rub against each other. 

Mickey’s the first to pull away. “Bedroom?” he questions quietly against Ian’s lips. Ian leans back so he can see Mickey’s face. His pupils are blown and his lips are kiss-swollen. Ian moves a hand up to the nape of Mickey’s head, kissing him again, and nodding. 

They slowly make their way down the hallway, Ian closely following Mickey. Once they make it to the bedroom they briefly step apart to kick off their shoes and socks. Ian’s fingers slide under Mickey’s shirt, ghosting over his smooth belly. They work together to get their shirts off. 

Mickey gently pushes Ian back on the bed and kneels down in front of him. He runs his hands over Ian’s clothed thighs a few times before he works a hand over Ian’s noticeable bulge. Ian groans as Mickey squeezes lightly. 

Mickey’s nimble fingers work Ian’s belt through the buckle and pull the zipper down. He presses wet kisses against the redhead’s belly. 

Mickey’s eyes darken when Ian’s hard on bounces out of his boxer briefs, settling against his stomach. Fuck, his cock is perfect. He reaches out, wrapping his hand around the base, just feeling how hot and thick and heavy it is against his palm. Mickey notices there’s precum already bubbling from the slit.

“Fuck…” Ian groans when Mickey takes the head into his mouth, pressing his tongue in the slit collecting what’s there. 

Mickey keeps a firm grip around the base, slightly jerking, while he takes more of the redhead’s cock. He cups his tongue around the underside, wetly pushing against that thick vein. Mickey feels one of Ian’s hands settle into his hair, his fingers gently grasping at the dark strands. 

Ian looks down, watching the artist’s hollowed cheeks move up and down his cock. He feels Mickey move his hand down to his balls, massaging them and rolling them between his fingers, while he takes his cock deeper. He moans out loud when the head hits the back of Mickey’s throat, fingers tightening in his hair. 

Mickey tries to look up, the angle only allowing his eyes to go as far as Ian’s stomach. He slides a hand through the ginger hair above his dick and up over Ian’s abs, the hard muscles quivering under his touch.

Panting and slick wet sounds fill the bedroom. Ian can feel Mickey moan around his cock, the vibrations and velvety rhythm becoming too much. 

“Ohh,” Ian gasps when Mickey swallows around the sensitive head of his cock. “Uhh, fuck…” he tries not to thrust into the artist’s mouth. Ian feels a warm tingling in his belly, thighs trembling. 

“Mickey, Mick…” Ian gets out desperately, trying to get his attention. Mickey slides off his cock with a wet pop. He continues his measured strokes on the spit slick shaft, blue eyes meeting green. Ian disentangles his fingers and holds the side of Mickey’s face, feeling him catch his breath, and runs his thumb over his bottom lip. 

They hold each other’s gaze for a few seconds before Ian stands and pulls Mickey with him, kissing him deeply and attempting to work both of their pants and underwear completely off. 

“Lay down,” he instructs and Mickey happily complies scooting up until his head rests against one of the pillows. Mickey takes in Ian’s heated expression as the redhead crawls over him completely covering his body. Ian holds himself up with one hand and uses the other to cup Mickey’s face as he kisses him. Their hard cocks line up and slide against each other. 

Mickey moans into Ian’s mouth and Ian eagerly slides his tongue inside. It’s wet and hot as they work smoothly against each other. Mickey wraps his arms around Ian, pulling against his shoulder blades, and opens his thighs giving Ian more room to press against him. 

The redhead moves to kiss below Mickey’s ear, earning a soft moan, and slowly works his way down. He sucks at the side of Mickey’s neck, the artist moving a hand from his freckled shoulder to the back of his head encouraging him. He loves the sounds he’s pulling out of Mickey and the way their bodies are slowly grinding against each other. 

Ian pulls back admiring how the dark red mark he’s made stands out against Mickey’s complexion. He feels Mickey’s fingernails lightly scratch at his scalp, their eyes meeting. 

“We never, uh, talked about… Are you a一,” Ian fumbles. 

“Fuck me,” Mickey replies without hesitation, surging up for a heated kiss. Ian indulges him, their lips and tongues clashing. 

It lasts a few seconds before Ian pulls back. “Turn over,” he tells him through a smile. 

Mickey rolls over pushing himself up onto his knees, ass on display. Ian thought he looked good in his jeans, but fuck. He can’t resist running his hands over the smooth pale skin. He pulls his cheeks apart exposing his pink hole. Ian runs his thumb over the furled skin feeling it twitch. 

“Condoms?” Ian asks. Mickey nods towards the nightstand. Ian leans over opening the small drawer digging out a strip of condoms and a bottle of lube. He tosses the condoms to the side and opens the lube, squirting a good amount on his fingers. 

He uses one finger to rub Mickey’s hole again spreading it around. He slowly pushes the finger inside feeling how wet and tight it is. 

Ian slides in and out a few times before adding another. Ian feels Mickey clench around his two fingers and works them just as slowly as the first, but starts to scissor when Mickey relaxes. 

“More?” Ian asks, immediately earning a nod. He pulls out and adds more lube to his fingers. Mickey’s hole is slick and pliant when he presses against it. Mickey tenses a little when the three fingers push into him, spreading him open. Ian takes it slow. He sees that Mickey is still hard, cock hanging down between his legs, and grins. 

Ian knows the exact moment he finds Mickey’s spot, fingers nudging the sensitive area. Mickey lets out a loud moan, arching his back. Ian begins to thrust his fingers in and out a little faster, making sure to graze that spot every time. The artist begins to push back against him. 

“Mm, Ian…” Mickey pants, “I-I’m ready.” 

He works his fingers in a few more times until he’s confident he won’t hurt him. When he pulls out, he wipes his hand on the sheets and grabs a condom from the strip. Mickey watches over his shoulder as he rips it open, holds the tip, and unravels it down his length. He reaches for the lube, dripping some down onto his cock, and tosses it aside. 

Ian strokes himself a few times to spread the lube then uses the excess to rub against Mickey’s hole. He uses his knees to nudge Mickey’s thighs open giving him more room to settle in between. He brushes his hands over Mickey’s cheeks using one hand to spread him open and the other to guide his cock. He teases the head over Mickey’s hole, just barely pushing against it. 

Ian starts to press inside Mickey, slow and steady. When the head pops past the tight ring, Mickey whimpers. 

“Good?” Ian checks in. 

“Yeah, keep going,” Mickey confirms. 

He thrusts in another inch then pulls out to add more lube. His movements are measured as he works more and more of his cock in Mickey’s tight hole. Mickey’s walls clench around Ian’s cock as he works in deeper. 

“Fuck,” Mickey gasps as Ian slides in completely. Ian moves his hands to Mickey’s hips holding them both steady as Mickey adjusts. He starts to feel Mickey push back against him taking that as a sign that he can move. 

Ian pulls out of him slowly until just his head is in then presses back in. He does this a few times before Mickey starts pushing back harder, egging him on. Ian speeds up his thrusts, grip tightening on his hips. 

“Uh, uhh,” Mickey breathes out as his whole body moves with Ian’s thrusts. The room is starting to get hot, sweat beginning to pool on both men, their skin sticking together whenever Ian’s hips meet Mickey’s ass. Ian uses his strong grip to adjust Mickey’s hips, getting a better angle.

“ _Fuck_ , Ian,” Mickey moans out in a higher pitch, as Ian directly hits his prostate sending electric waves of pleasure throughout his body. Ian thrusts hard against the spot again and Mickey’s arms give out, his chest falling to the mattress. He turns his face to the side giving Ian a perfect view of his profile. His eyes are closed and his mouth is open as he pants. Ian loves Mickey’s expressive face and how responsive his body is. 

Ian looks down to see his cock sliding in and out, loving the way Mickey’s arched back looks. Mickey is hot and tight around him and feels so fucking good. He takes one hand off Mickey’s hip and runs it up his sweaty spine. 

He presses his chest against Mickey’s back and covers his body, using his elbows on either side of Mickey to hold himself up. Most of his weight still settles against the artist, holding him down, but he doesn’t seem to mind as Ian grinds against his ass and rotates his hips. Ian kisses the back of Mickey’s neck, tasting salt and just _him_. 

Mickey whimpers and puts his hands over Ian’s forearms while Ian moves up to kiss him. The angle is weird but they make it work, sharing warm breaths as they move against each other. 

When they break apart, Ian kisses the side of Mickey’s neck again. Panting heavily, he whispers into Mickey’s ear, “You feel so fucking good.” He can just barely see that Mickey bites his lip at the admission. Grinning, he pushes himself up on his hands gaining more leverage. He starts slamming into Mickey, both of them moaning out.

Without warning, Ian pulls them both up so they’re kneeling, his chest still tightly pressed against Mickey’s back. The sudden change leaves Mickey’s head spinning until Ian grounds him by wrapping one arm tightly across his chest. Mickey holds onto the freckled arm as Ian’s thrusts get faster and deeper, his other hand reaching back to grip at Ian’s thigh. 

Ian’s cock drags over Mickey’s prostate every time he works himself in and out, the stimulation becoming overwhelming. Mickey’s head falls back onto Ian’s shoulder as he pants heavily in between breathy moans. Ian turns to kiss and suck at his neck. 

Mickey’s dick bounces in the air with every movement, dripping with precum. Ian wraps his large hand around him and starts stroking at the same pace as his thrusts. 

“I-Ian…” Mickey starts but breaks into a moan. “Ohh, fuck… Ian.” 

Ian stops kissing the artist's neck and bites his own lip hearing Mickey moan out his name. “Yeah? You close?” he asks, knowing he’s almost there himself. He feels a nod against his cheek and a hand squeeze his thigh. “Me too,” Ian affirms. 

He starts stroking Mickey’s cock faster, twisting his palm over the head. Ian feels that same warm tingling in his lower belly, his thighs starting to shake. He can feel Mickey’s nails scratch into his skin.

“Fuck... oh fuck,” Mickey whimpers out as he starts to cum, his body tightening against Ian’s, who stops thrusting and jerks him through his orgasm. Mickey’s hole squeezes around Ian’s cock every time another thick rope of cum shoots onto the bed. 

Ian lets go of Mickey’s increasingly sensitive cock and uses that hand to rub at his lower belly, holding him close with both arms as the artist catches his breath.

“Holy shit,” Mickey lightly laughs out. He turns to kiss Ian and revels in being wrapped up by the redhead. Their lips smack against each other four or five times before Mickey pulls back. He takes a hold of Ian’s hands and moves them back to his hips. He starts to push his ass back against Ian’s hard cock. 

Ian grins and begins to work in and out building up a steady pace. He can tell when he scapes against Mickey’s overstimulated prostate because the artist groans and tightens around him. 

“Oh god, Mick…” Ian punches out. Mickey moves both of his hands back to grip Ian’s thighs, holding on tight. 

Ian knows that he’s close. He feels that warmth settling lower and lower in his belly, his balls beginning to tighten against his body. He slides a hand over Mickey’s chest again pulling him close. He thrusts two more times before he feels himself let go. He goes still inside Mickey, flush against his ass, as his cock pulses and fills the condom.

“Fuck,” he breathes out against Mickey’s shoulder, kissing the damp skin. 

Mickey rubs at Ian’s thighs while they both attempt to catch their breath. They both slightly slump back onto their haunches, Mickey basically sitting in his lap. 

After a few minutes, they start to pull apart. Mickey leans up and Ian holds onto the condom as he slips out, Mickey’s hole shiny and slightly opening and closing now that his cock isn’t filling it. Mickey swings a leg around Ian and lays down on his back. His eyes are closed and Ian watches as his tongue quickly swipes over his bottom lip and he inhales deeply through his nose. 

Ian looks down at the used condom on his deflating dick. He pulls it off, careful not to make a mess, and ties it before throwing it towards a small trash can. He lays down next to Mickey, looking up at the ceiling. 

He feels Mickey lean over to the nightstand and seconds later, he hears the click of a lighter and a deep inhale. Mickey lays back down and takes another hit off the freshly lit cigarette before offering it to Ian who gladly accepts.

“I don’t normally fuck on the first date,” Ian says exhaling. 

He regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. They haven’t talked about what any of this is or what any of it means. Ian takes another nervous drag preparing for Mickey to tell him to get the fuck out. 

“Well,” Mickey starts, turning on his side and holding himself up with his elbow to get a better look at the panicking redhead. Ian musters up whatever scraps of courage he has and turns toward the artist making eye contact. Mickey reaches out for the cigarette. “It’s technically the third time we’ve hung out, so…” 

Ian stares as Mickey looks down at him amused. The artist is quick as he leans down to press a chaste kiss against Ian’s lips. As he pulls away, matching smiles slowly creep across their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being twice as long as I originally planned and I hope it's a solid conclusion! I kind of love this AU, so I might add some one-shots over time. Thanks to all the folks that stuck it out with me! Your comments and kudos give me life.
> 
> One thing I wanted to share about the title: I intended on working this in, but it never came together how I wanted. I've heard multiple traditional tattooers say "bold will hold" referring to the bold outlines and colors of traditional work withstanding the test of time. It's always stuck with me and I sure hope it's true.
> 
> [What I imagine for the tattoo sketch Mickey sent Ian.](https://www.instagram.com/p/BUkDDKxgSDr/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link)
> 
> Let's connect: [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/southside-forever).
> 
> xx Rhys


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